Ter Oiomornië
by LoyalElf
Summary: Title means 'Through the Endless Dark.' After the battle, and the wrath and the ruin of Smaug and the orc army, Legolas Thranduilion turned to the North. And what then? What changed the impassive, cold warrior-prince into the kind, thoughtful, merry archer we meet again in The Fellowship? This is the story-of hardship, friendship, loyalty, battle, peace, beauty, love...and memory.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, dearest readers. I give you the start of what I hope will be an emotional roller coaster XD But truly, a heartfelt story with a touch of whimsy and a lot of plot blank fillers. Centered mainly around Legolas, but it will feature beloved friends like Elrond, his children, Bard and his children, Tauriel, Gimli, Aragorn, and of course a few enemies and a few lovers.**

**Note: THIS IS NOT A ROMANCE. GOSH NO. But you have to understand that it will have romance in it. It is hardly a dominant plot, but it may take over a chapter here and there. Pairings are Legolas/OC, Thranduil/OC, Elladan/OC, and Tauriel/OC. All are subplots. NO MARY-SUES! If you feel that I am edging towards that horrificness, TELL ME AT ONCE.**

**And of course...REVIEWS ARE MY LIFE!**

_

_Chapter One~A Void_

He rounds the corner and looks right at me, but he keeps walking, acknowledging me and rejecting me at the same time.

"I cannot stay..." His three words resound in my head and stay there. Throbbing. _Revolving_. His face reminds me of one I see everyday, when I close my doors behind me at the end of the day and face myself in the mirror. The face that I wore for the first time when I searched for my wife and could not find her. I had never found her.

All these centuries later and still I seemed to be looking for her everywhere.

"Where will you go?" I say desperately, turning to look as he turns his back and strides away. He pauses. Thank heaven. And looks back at me. I know before he says anything that he doesn't know and doesn't really care.

"Go north." The words spill from my lips. I explain to him about Estel, Elrond's fascinating foster-son, but I am focused on his face. Hope begins to dawn behind the bitterness in his eyes and the grime on his skin, but there is nothing there for me. He seeks adventure and friendship and new lands.

Not a father.

And it comes to me that all the time I looked for my wife, my love, I never once looked back for my son.

...Perhaps I did. In the very beginning. But I soon left him behind. My wife had taken the heart of a husband with her into the fire, and I had taken upon the mantle of a king, somehow casting aside my father's heart as I did.

_Ion-nín..._

He is nodding, and again he goes to leave.

I _cannot_, I _must_ not let him go like this. He has to understand...

But it is too much to explain in so little time. He will not forgive me if I lie or say it swiftly. And so I tell him the only sweet, comforting little truth I know.

"Legolas!"

He turns one last time to observe me, looking slightly angry and as cold as ever. Has it always been like this-_Ai it hurts_-between us?

"Your mother loved you. More than anything. More than life itself."

For the merest second, the tiniest fraction of time, the walls behind his eyes lift, revealing pain and hurt and hope and love and an agony and longing that match mine-and then they slam down again. Maybe I imagine the slight smile curling his lips? And he nods and turns his back on me for the last time.

I wonder if I will ever see his face again...and my last, most passionate wish rises up in me, erupting through the shell of ice I have let spread over my heart, up my chest and throat, touching my lips...and stops. It will not come out as spoken words, and hides inside me as a thought, a prayer.

_...Come back to me, meleth-ion-nín. Saes...come back to me..._

He's gone.

I blink hard and discover that I am on the verge of tears. It has been many years under green trees and black shadows since I allowed myself the luxury of tears.

I too turn my back and walk away, this time towards the only other person who has come close to touching my heart in all this time. Tauriel.

If times had been different...if I were different...I might have called her_ iel-nín_, my daughter, but as it was I had taken her under my wing and given her the chance to be the first ranking elleth outside palace walls. Females had populated my fighting forces for time out of mind, but Tauriel had been the first to become a ranking member of the Guard. Mordilwen had been the first ranking _elleth_, but only as a palace guard. My patrols were different...fiercer...in more danger.

I quickened my pace and came out onto a flat ledge of stone.

The young dwarf. Thorin's youngest nephew...Kili?...was lying dead across the stones, eyes open, a violent wound through his abdomen. One hand was outstretched, and next to him sat my Captain of Guard. She was crying, and one slim hand covered her stomach. Wounded. Badly, but not fatally.

I felt pity rise up in me, and nearly writhed with it, for how long had it been since I felt pity? But when the _elleth_ looked up at me, trembling, I felt my face soften. I breathed out, and she gasped out the question I knew the answer to...all too well.

"Why?" Her red hair flutters softly around her face, the grime against her pale skin making her green eyes glitter. "If this is love I do not want it. Take it away from me...please."

She was treading the same path I had. The disbelief, the rejection, the plea for nothingness...and then...

"Why does it hurt so much?" She gasps out.

And I give her the answer I had come to terms with slowly, and the one I had denied her earlier.

"Because it was real."

My wife was gone, my Captain and surrogate daughter destroyed, and my only son vanished into the North.

What was there to hope for?

What was left for me? Thranduil, King of Eryn-Lasgalen, Lord of Mirkwood, Son of Oropher, Husband of Melwen, Father of Legolas?

**Elvish Translations:**

**Ion-nín ~ my son**

**Meleth~ n. Love adj. Beloved**

**Saes ~ Please**

**Eryn-Lasgalen ~ Kingdom of Green-leaves**

**Iel-nin ~ my daughter**

**Elleth ~ female elf (plural is ****_ellyth_****)**

**PLEASE REVIEW. I can never bear to post another chapter if I think people are disgusted with my writing :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Guys. Really. I need reviews. I am going out on a limb here, risking another chapter without any advice on how my last one went. But a huge thank-you to elwingortheriel, mjg43 and ranko-chwan for following/favoriting! It was the one thing that encouraged me to try another chapter.**

Chapter Two- A New Friendship

Legolas rode hard for nearly a fortnight, heading northwest and then further west, towards a land that bore a strange name…

_"If you want to find the Ranger, you shall have to head first North, 'round or better yet through the land of Elrond Peredhil—yes, yes, stop there, I should say—and then West, towards a land called The Shire." Gandalf had said, his eyes twinkling under his bushy eyebrows as if he knew a great many humorous secrets and was waiting to watch Legolas learn them. "Hmph. And do not believe you can forgo the Hidden Valley as you ride! The journey is far too long and the paths too unfamiliar to your eyes for you to survive. Elrond knows much of the man you seek—" again his eyes sparkled infuriatingly!—"yes, much, and it would be wise of you to rest at least two days."_

…the Prince of Mirkwood arrived at the borders of Imladris that evening, but he came across the expected problem: the elvish haven was called the Hidden Valley because it was completely hidden. If he had been man or dwarf, he may have found it within the next few days by searching, but the hidden guards of Imladris found him first. They guided him southwest for an hour before they were cut off.

The leader of the patrol, one of Elrond's twin sons, removed his silver helmet with its purple pennant, eyes narrowed. Legolas was struck by the differences between the Noldor and the Green-Elves at that brief moment…the richer tones in the skin, the slightly slanted eyes, the noble arch of each one's brow, and the dominance of dark hair. All this he marveled at in a moment, and then the Elrondion cried, "_Yrch_!"

Legolas could sense it now, as well, even in the unfamiliar territory. Not even two dozen orcs, heading towards them from behind the next rise. The seven Noldor drew swords and spears, and Legolas drew his bow.

"Long range," the leader said appreciatively, never taking his eyes off the oncoming horde.

"I admit I am surprised that the elves in the forests prefer bows while the elves in the valley prefer blades," Legolas returned, also keeping his eyes on the enemy

"True enough, hir-nin," the other returned, "but then again, we prefer to fight in patrols, while I believe your people favor individual styles?"

"Indeed." Legolas said, his eyes starting to take on the pale, feral gleam that came when he prepared to gith. "And I believe that you are about to earn, if you have not already, the right to call me Legolas."

"And the same permission for you to call me Elladan!" the warrior laughed, and then the _yrch_ were upon them.

Legolas sensed his seven companions form an arrow, with he and Elladan at the head, and three streaming from each side. They each thrust their spears up, and he raised his recurve bow and in the matter of seconds they had before they were upon them he had slain seven. He drew his knives in two quick, fluid movements, he had his twin knives.

Then they were hand to hand; the orcs on foot and the elves on horseback, but the orcs outnumbering them a little more than two-to-one. Again and again Legolas slashed and twined his blades, removing heads and stabbing through weak points in their rough armor. Alone he slew another four, but the skirmish was extremely easy; the patrol had the others down in less than a minute.

The skirmish would have been something rapidly forgotten ordinarily, but as it was, the fight was the beginning of an unbreakable friendship. Elladan Elrondion and Legolas Thranduilion rode side by side, talking swiftly and easily, and they came cantering onto the grounds of Rivendell together, a striking pair—one in silver and royal purple, the other in silver and forest greens, one with dark, merry eyes and streaming black hair, the other with icy blue eyes and long gold hair.

Elrond met them as they dismounted, a welcoming smile on his face. "_Mae govannen_, friend of Imladris!"

Legolas bowed, face impassive, and Elladan spoke up. "Ada, this is Legolas Thranduilion of the Woodland Realm. He comes in search of the son of Arathorn."

Something about the way he said the last three words hinted to Legolas that there was a story to be discovered, and when he met Elrond's curious, deep eyes he knew that Gandalf was right.

"Welcome, Thranduilion." He said calmly.

"Thank you, my lord, but do me the honor of calling me Legolas." The elven prince hesitated slightly. " I would prefer to parade neither my title…nor my father's name."

If the lord of Rivendell was surprised, he did not show it. He merely held out his hand towards his halls, pointing the way for his eldest and his guest to pass through the gates.

Legolas seated himself carefully, almost rigidly, in one of the large chairs in the Hall of Fire. Elladan sat on his left, and on Elladan's left sat his twin, dressed in what Legolas recognized as healer's robes. At first he was surprised, but then he recalled again how different things were here. In his father's kingdom, healing was more favored by _ellyth_, and rarely by those of noble blood. Here, the arts of war, poetry, healing, and song were shared fairly by both male and female, and all were equally respected.

His immediate response was condescension, and amusement, but as he watched an evening pass here, in these airy halls, he felt his confusion grow. Torn between his birth-right and the inheritance of his new freedom…

For almost two hours he slowly, gently relaxed into a world of dance, song, and friendship. He danced with _ellyth_, discussed the history of archery with elves, but abstained from the singing. It was too festive for what seemed a perfectly ordinary occasion—too ordinary to celebrate, perhaps.

Elrohir, Elladan's twin, proved to be a much softer, subtler companion, but Legolas found his humor intriguing and his conversation engaging. With the wit of Elrohir and the cheer of Elladan, the Mirkwood elf relaxed entirely.

"Your steed is quite impressive, Elladan," he offered. "A Rhovanion stallion, I suppose?"

"Yes, he is! His name is in the common tongue—Flameheart—as named by my brother."

"A good choice in name, Elrohir," Legolas praised.

Elrohir laughed. "No, I did not name the stallion. Our other brother chose his name."

Legolas arched an eyebrow. "Other…brother? I know a little of your sister, the Lady Arwen, but I had not heard of a third son of Elrond."

Elrohir dipped his head. "Few have. Estel is our adopted brother, a Man whose father was a dear friend to our house."

Elladan smiled knowingly. "His father's name was Arathorn, Legolas."

Legolas sat up, startled. "This man—Estel? The Ranger I am searching for is…your foster-brother?"

"Indeed," came Elrond's voice. "My son now travels the wastes and hills north of The Shire, but as Gandalf the Grey told you, his true name and purpose you must discover for yourself."

"Another second name? Hope?" Legolas laughed more merrily than he had in a long time, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I pursue a phantom, it seems!"

The friends dissolved into chuckles again, and then the twins rose to leave, offering to show Legolas to his rooms if he so desired. He accepted, feeling already at home in the Hidden Valley. He stood right behind the twins as they approached Elrond and all three bowed.

…And then two things happened, one right after the other. The first one made the Prince feel uncomfortable and surprised…and the second made him feel shocked and confused.

Elrond embraced of each of his sons in turn, and they each murmured "_Im meleth le, Ada_."

And then Elrond embraced Legolas, both politely and kindly, and said, "Welcome to the West, Legolas, and rest well tonight."

**Elvish Translations:**

_**Mae govannen**_** ~ Well met (a common greeting amongst all elves)**

_**Ellyth**_** ~ Female elves, plural. (singular is **_**elleth**_**)**

_**Im meleth le**_** ~ I love you**

_**Ada**_** ~ Father, but familiarly, more like "Dad."**

_**Elrondion**_** ~ son of Elrond, used as a last name**

_**Thranduilion**_** ~ son of Thranduil, used as a last name**

**PLEASE REVIEW. W! **


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks SO much for the Reviews! Although, to my wonderful guest reviewer—I don't know about the rest of you but your review has vanished I got a notification for it but when I checked the story it was gone…BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH, "Just a Reader" ;) And to all my followers and lurkers. Great to see the numbers!

Chapter Three~ Into the Sun

Three weeks.

That is how long Legolas tarried in Rivendell. He could not, or would not, explain why. Not even to himself. But though it took time for him to fully realize it, he learned much during his nearly month-long stay.

The dead of winter was passing in Middle Earth and Spring was arriving. Legolas could picture with perfect clarity the way his homeland would brighten for a few weeks—the trees would sing again, even the shadowed ones. The attacks would slow to almost nothing while the biting, shrieking, foul creatures of the dark retreated under rock and earth to hide from the light. The Festival of Yavanna would begin, one of the few ancient rites their people still celebrated in connection with the Valar, and for three days his people would dance and sing and make merry. Even…even his father would soften. If there was any time of the year that Legolas believed he could make his adar love him, it was the beginning of Spring.

But like all merry things these past few centuries, it would pass like a child's flower tossed on the wind. The trees, both Shadowed and Light, would be stronger, and there would be a frenzy of endless battles.

Legolas tore himself away from such memories…

Here in Rivendell, it was different. Winter seemed to have had little effect on the Valley, except to beautify it. The snow was thick and the plants sturdy and graceful, as if each were the ideal of its kind. When the snow melted over a few days, the grass flushed green and the trees raised leafy limbs to the blue sky. A golden haze seemed to settle on the air, and it smelled of life and nature. The merrymaking never seemed to stop, but it was never something that grew tiring. One could dance until dawn and then retreat into a luxurious room or, more to the Wood-elf's taste, nestle in a tree and enjoy solitude. He could spar with anyone willing and both train hard and polish his skills without having to fear his enemy. Songs could be sung, lessons learned, walks and rides taken with friends or alone, sleep all day or never sleep.

It was something his people, so used to the Shadow's ways, could never envision. And he could easily hear the mockery of some of the more battle-weary or battle-thirsty belittling the Noldor for their easy lives. And part of Legolas would agree.

The other…? The other would say that this is what they had fought to defend, and why shouldn't others be happy that they were succeeding? Why should the Noldor abstain from cheer simply because others did not have it?

Although, despite its secluded location, the Sindar did wonder how in the name of Arda they managed to remain so shielded. Elrond had great power, greater than his father's, but not even he should be able to sustain this.

But after three weeks of ease, plenty, and learning, the Prince was ready to move on. His heart was still so terribly restless, and until he discovered more about Estel, the better he would feel.

For another month Legolas rode, north and west and then more sharply north. Some days he moved slowly, enjoying the open feel of this territory, others he galloped for long stretches. As he came upon broder, more-travelled roads, he began packing his finer clothing away. He wore a simple green peasant shirt and brown leggings, all under a large navy blue cloak Elrohir had gifted to him the day he had left. With the hood up, he looked like a human with a dislike for strangers. His bow was wrapped in cloth and attached to his bag, as were his quiver and arrows, but his twin blades he kept sheathed at his side.

Each morning he rose from a secluded, woody spot and mounted his stallion, riding into the West with the rising sun at his back and raced along as if trying to outpace it. Eventually, it would soar above his head at high noon, and then slowly descend into the horizon. Never in his life had Legolas been able to see the sun from the moment it rose to the moment it set, and he rode into the setting sun with a fierce combination of pleasure and fear.

He passed men—some friendly, others bored, and a few hostile. He ignored them all, except a single occasion when he flung a small female child out of the way of an oncoming cart. The child had screamed when he leapt off his horse and picked her up, setting her down gently on the grassy side of the road. Then she had blinked up at him, tangled dirty-blonde head tipped to one side, and smiled. "Thanks, sir."

He had nodded and continued on his way, barely avoiding the child's father, who came running and scooped her up in his arms.

In spite of himself, the elf turned his head to look back before he rounded the corner, and the sight of the pair of humans made something in his chest ache. He looked away.

Days passed into new days, and the country became wilder as he curved his path up and out of the human territory, just barely clipping its fringes. Plump bushes in well-tended gardens and scraggly trees bearing flowers and fruit along the side of the roadways turned to scrub and tangled vine. The trees looked lonely and feral, and just by looking at them Legolas could tell they had never been near an elf. At least, not for time out of mind.

His stallion, Ruthion, sped over rough and molded terrain, and the vibrant green faded to the eerie green-blue of the wastelands. The Sindar could scarce believe how empty the landscape was—here, one could see for leagues. As an elf, he could see long distances with little trouble, but had never had much occasion to in his lifetime under tree.

Rider and horse seemed to withdraw into themselves, hiding from the vastness.

…Which was how Legolas came riding straight into a trap in the dead of night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Two chapters in one day! I must really love you guys XD This is a special chapter, meaning that it is centered around someone other than Legolas or Thranduil. From time to time there will be chapters from the first-person point of view of Thranduil or his son, simply to make an important part of the story more intense. **** This time, we're hearing from a very familiar voice…Enjoy! And keep on reviewing!**

Chapter Four~ For a Stranger

The man bent low to the ground, moving almost noiselessly, his senses stretched out in every direction. Behind him, the night receded into blackness, but he could sense—and remember perfectly—every stone and dip and bush he had passed to make it here. Ahead, the ground rose up and then sloped down sharply in a large, crooked circle, making a shallow basin in the land.

At the bottom, he knew, was a small creek, a few thick trees, good grass…and the camp of a few outlaws that had been terrorizing the humans farther east and then moving here. If they continued on their path of destruction, not only would more humans die, or lose their land, or their families, but the outlaws would venture into the heart of The Shire—and find a large population of merry, peaceful, unprepared Halflings.

"_Estel_," a voice breathed from the darkness on his right.

"_Bergin_," he whispered back, his voice nearly imperceptible. "_What have you seen?"_

"_The outlaws are there, Captain, thirty or so in all. They have horses to fit their numbers, a large amount of supplies which clearly they stole, and enough weapons to decorate a small army."_ Bergin came closer as he made his report, gliding along near the ground like a woodland animal. His face was hidden by his large mottled cloak, but the keen eyes of Estel could vaguely see the man's dark stubbled chin and wry smile.

Bergin smiled often, which was far from characteristic for a Ranger, and kept the spirits of every man up. His smile twisted into a brief frown and he gestured over the ridge.

"_They also have a captive, Estel._" When the Captain looked at him in alarm, Bergin added, "_It's…an elf_."

Estel's gut clenched. Elves did not usually travel this far. If they did, they were making their way to the Havens, having been wearied by life here. So either they had caught an already weakened elf, or had been carting him around for months on end. Either way, it was a bad situation.

The son of Arathorn had not set eyes on an elf in nearly five years. That was how long it had been since he had travelled the elven roads—the quickest paths—to Imladris. He wondered with fear if this was an elf he knew.

Ignoring the whispered warning of his companion, Estel crawled to the top of the rise and peered down. He saw exactly what Bergin had described. The humans were in no particular order or arrangement; they wandered about from fire to fire, completely confident in their numbers. Estel's lip curled. And then he saw, seated next to the largest tent, and large, scruffy-haired figure, his features mostly hidden by the shadows and red light cast by the fire at his feet.

Also at his feet lay the elf—unconscious, bound tightly with a superfluous number of ropes, a red stain visible on one arm and on the side of his head. He had golden hair that was covering his face. It was not Glorfindel, nor was it Runwen, the only two golden-haired elves to reside in Rivendell. And Runwen only stayed at weeks for a time, preferring a Nomadic lifestyle. And the elf was definitely male.

So, a stranger then. The other thing that puzzled Estel was his appearance. This looked like a Mirkwood elf, but he was dressed like a Noldor! And there was something…vaguely familiar…in his features.

Estel felt his heart go out to the captive and turned his head to look at Bergin. "Tell the others. We attack in fifteen minutes time, when the moon passes beneath the oncoming clouds. Take five others and ambush them from here; tell two of the other leaders to take groups of their own and strike from the sides—there and there—a minute after you do."

Bergin gave him a knowing grin. "And I imagine you'll be after the elf?"

"I'd not leave a kinsman in trouble. Even a distant one," Estel answered. He looked back and felt a pang of foreboding again. Who _was_ the stranger?

Estel watched from his positon behind the lower slope as his Rangers followed his orders flawlessly. Bergin and his group seemed to explode into being at the thickest part of the camp, causing instant mayhem. And just under a minute later, when the fight was turning into a trap for the attackers, five or six other men erupted from each side, catching the outlaws in a full-out battle.

Estel made his move. He lunged over the slope, cloak billowing, and landed behind the leader.

He had misjudged, however. As he leapt, the man rose to his feet and spun about, perhaps looking for an exit, and saw the Ranger. As fast as any of the Dunedain, he drew his blade and took on Estel with a fury. Estel dodged the first couple of blows, giving the man confidence and also letting him land an unfortunate blow with his free fist to Estel's arm, but managing to turn the outlaw around so that Estel stood in front of the elf. Then he drew his sword and raised it in defiance.

"Filthy Ranger! Mucking about with peasants and children and _elves_," the man snarled. His face was broad, brown as a nut, and might have been handsome if it weren't for the permanent sneer in his expression. He had almond-shaped, dark black eyes and flyaway brown hair, and stood about half a foot over the Ranger. "You won't have him! He's my greatest loot so far!"

"He's an elf, and one of the free peoples of Middle Earth," Estel challenged, still locked in a deadly dance of sword on sword. "You shall not have him. No one shall."

Something red flickered in the corner of his eye, and he ducked instinctively and rolled away, spinning on his toes and rising again to face the man from the opposite direction. He had picked up a blazing poker and thrust it at the Ranger.

Estel felt the air leave his lungs when he saw what he had done. The outlaw's captain was standing taunt, facing him, one hand holding the burning poker towards him, the other clutching the still unconscious elf to him, his sword pressed against his neck.

The son of Elrond could sense that the other battle had finished, feel his men drawing nearer, waiting for his call.

"_Sidh_," he said bitterly, staring the outlaw in the eye. Instantly the Rangers lowered their weapons, though they drew tightly together in a semi-circle behind the outlaw.

The man spoke. "I am Harey, son of Harend, and here I will either die or claim my first victory." His eyes gleamed, and Estel shivered inwardly. He looked completely mad, deliriously so. "You move, I kill the elf and you kill me. Or…"

"Or what?"

"Or you bring me another prize in exchange for this _animal_," Harey sneered, shaking the elf-warrior roughly.

"I will _not_ steal anyone's livelihood!"

"Oh, I think we've come to a good compromise on this favor. You see, three leagues north of here lies a sprawling town, name of Medeth. Long ago, it was a center of trade for weary travelers, much like Bree. It was Bree what put Medeth aside, but it was the Lord of Medeth that killed it. He died, see, and the people were intendin' to set up a new lord, his nephew or sommat' like. But there was a revolt, and now the people are slaves to a man called Druth." Harey smiled grimly. "Blasted man. He's got no brains, but an awful lot of friends and a lot of brawn an' weapons. He lives in a mansion—sort of—in the center of the town. And he has gold, gold he took from my family and others, and he makes it into things he don' need. He particularly likes goblets. They are well guarded, those treasures, and I want to you steal one. A goblet. And bring it to me."

"And in return?" Estel said, mulling over everything he had heard.

"I'll free the elf, safe an' sound, to you. But you've only got two days to do it."

"Two? And how do I know this isn't a lie? My people have roamed these hills for time out of mind, and never come across…across…" his voice faltered. Something stirred in the back of his mind, and horror blossomed.

Harey grinned. "Yeah. I see you recall it."

"It looked like a ghost town! We searched it, and no one was there, at all! And…and it's well-hidden."

"The people weren't there because Druth sends them out on pointless scouting trips once a month. And you never went back there again?"

"No…" Estel whispered.

"Well, 'ere's your chance. Fetch me a goblet, and bring it to me by the time of the half-moon. Two nights from now."

The Rangers closed in more tightly, and the outlaw stiffened. His eyes never wavered from Estel's.

"Well then, Ranger?" He licked his lips. "What would you give…_for a stranger_?"

**Elvish Translations:**

**Sidh~ Peace, be at peace**

**TAH-DAH! Enter our dear Numenorian! The action will pick up now, along with the plot. There is a plot, oh yes. *smiles grimly* I hope your hearts are made of ice, otherwise you'll never survive!**

**XD**

**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**


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